


More Water

by ancalime8301



Category: Sherlock Holmes (1984 TV), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Community: watsons_woes, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-22
Updated: 2015-07-22
Packaged: 2018-04-10 14:12:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4394921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ancalime8301/pseuds/ancalime8301
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Holmes didn't heed Watson's advice about dealing with the heat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	More Water

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://watsons-woes.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://watsons-woes.livejournal.com/)**watsons_woes** July Writing Prompt #21: _Heat Rash. It's a muggy, hot summer and someone's reacting badly. Metaphorical bonus points for including salve/lotion/ointment and needing help applying it._
> 
> I had Granada in my head as I wrote this, but there's nothing specific to that particular 'verse.

The weather has been still and sultry for days. I knew all too well that in such heat, and in the absence of any breeze, there was little one could do for relief save avoiding exertion and bathing in cold water. I followed my own prescription diligently, and remained in my armchair or at my desk for most of the day.

Holmes, however, insisted upon going out in pursuit of information for a 'little puzzle' he was working on, and had been absent from midmorning through late afternoon. When I rose to close the drapes against the sun, I saw him approaching on the pavement, so I rang Mrs. Hudson for a fresh pitcher of water. Holmes likely had not taken my admonishment about proper hydration to heart, for all that he had changed into a lighter suit of clothes--at my insistence--before he left.

When Holmes finally appeared in the doorway, he was quite drenched in sweat. I pressed a glass of water into his hand and commanded firmly, "Drink this."

"Watson--"

"Drink it."

"I feel ill."

"All the more reason to drink it. Am I correct in presuming you've had nothing to eat or drink since you left this morning?"

He nodded between swallows of water, then grimaced.

"Headache?"

"And a little dizzy," he admitted when he'd finished drinking the water.

I led him to one of the chairs at the table. "Sit. You're suffering from the heat," I said, pouring more water in the glass. He obediently began drinking it, and I pressed my fingers to the inside of his other wrist. His pulse was rapid, as I'd expected. "I recommend a cold bath and more water to drink."

"I do not think I will mind a cold bath."

The water in the taps was tepid rather than cold, but it would serve its purpose well enough. Holmes wanted to go to his bedroom to undress but I refused to let him out of my sight until I was assured his symptoms would not develop into something more serious, so he undressed beside the tub instead. Once he was safely immersed, I handed him another glass of water and left to retrieve his dressing gown.

When I returned, he handed me the empty glass. "No more just now, I beg you, or I will be ill."

"I shall grant you a temporary reprieve," I said. "But may I remind you--"

He held up a hand. "Yes, yes, I failed to listen. I fear it is a frequent failing of mine."

"Indeed."

"Are you going to wash my hair, or is there another reason you're still here?"

"I would rather enjoy dumping a pitcher over your head just now, but I'll let you tend to your washing. I was merely making sure you wouldn't do something so foolish as faint and drown yourself," I said somewhat testily.

His teasing mien immediately vanished. "I hardly think that likely."

"It was possible. But yes, I do think you will be all right. I will leave you to your bath."

Holmes didn't respond as I left the room, but when he came back out into the sitting room, he set a hand on my shoulder and squeezed gently in wordless thanks. I nodded back and he wandered over to the sideboard. "Alcohol will make it worse," I said just as he was about to pour. "Do you know what I would suggest?"

The decanter returned to the sideboard with a definite thunk. "More water," he said morosely.

"More water," I confirmed, suppressing a smile behind my mustache and my book.


End file.
